


Captain Becker's Diary

by TheLibranIniquity



Series: Captain Becker's Nouns [1]
Category: Primeval
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Diary/Journal, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-17
Updated: 2010-05-17
Packaged: 2017-11-06 00:28:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/412719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLibranIniquity/pseuds/TheLibranIniquity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will not give into urge to stamp feet and cry loudly: "Not only have I survived a tour of duty in Afghanistan but I now hunt <i>dinosaurs</i> for a living. I'M SPECIAL TOO!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Monday

**Author's Note:**

> Born from a comment in a recent Sunday Chat that writing Becker POV brought out the comedy in me and the ensuing realisation that if Becker kept a diary, it would look something like this. Maybe. Something of a cross between an homage and outright parody of Bridget Jones's Diary. Entries will be posted individually, each day this week, mostly because it seems a fun idea. Set in a Denial-friendly timeline.

**Monday**

_Bullets in clip first thing: 6. Bullets in clip last thing: 6. Creases in trousers: 0. Replacement hair product required: none._

Watched lone juvenile Apatosaurus trample a footbridge in Kent this afternoon; not allowed to shoot it, even with tranq. Found way to entertain self by aiming weapon at nearby tree and pretending it was Lester's head. Did not rise to Temple's bait that self was childish for pretending to shoot a tree. Next time will pretend Temple is the target.

Managed to steal keys from Miss Lewis for the journey back to London; although lovely when not armed with semi-automatic or operating on no sleep, she should never be let loose on British motorways in anything larger than a Mini Cooper. Am sure the driving population at large would agree with me.

Got home to find grand total of one message on the answering machine. Mum, as usual, in which she whined that she never got to talk to me in person any more much less see me, despite being in the same country as her for more than six months now. Managed about five minutes before the guilt trip kicked in and phoned her back.

_“Oh, hello sweetheart,”_ she gushed when she finally picked up. _“It's so lovely to talk to you – I was beginning to forget what you sound like. I just wanted to let you know, Cousin Kathy is hosting a little get-together for the family this weekend.”_

Oh, Cousin Kathy. Strongly suspect I have not been forgiven for the last garden party of hers I attended. Avoided being set up with the insipid spawn of one of her friends by taking along heavily-pregnant-with-twins then-best-friend Emma, who cheerfully announced over banoffee pie that her waters had broken and if someone didn't get her to the hospital pronto the babies would be born there and then on the patio. How that was my fault is still beyond me.

_“And she wanted me to ask you whether you'll be bringing anyone with you this time?”_

Suspicions of lingering blame confirmed. Bit back sarcastic reply about being far too busy for a love life the likes of which sister Elspeth has managed to achieve, and that even casual dating is next to impossible when daily work duties involve preventing largely oblivious scientists from being eaten by dinosaurs.

Managed to generate more non-committal grunts and a promise that I would look at my work schedule to ensure that my weekend was clear. Will blatantly be doing exact opposite. Scoring weekend shift at the ARC can't be difficult.

Mum hung up after almost seven more minutes of inane chatter about random family members, and of course her homosexual friend Arthur, who will probably be referred to on his gravestone as such if Mum has anything to do with it.

Nothing on telly worth watching and ARC-issued mobile phone remains blessedly silent. Time for the next chapter of Jack McDevitt and then bed. Can only hope will not wake up to rampaging dinosaurs in the morning... and what does it say about current state of life that have written that sentence _in all seriousness?_


	2. Tuesday

**Tuesday**  
Spent morning on shooting range; various imaginary targets included Cousin Kathy, Lester and Temple. Was joined mid-way through practice by Hart who swanned in, fired a few shots in textbook pose, and smirked when he scored more than the newly transferred-in sniper at the other end of the range.

Refused to be drawn into bet with Hart as to who was the better shot. Have not forgotten the rumours that the last soldier to be drawn into shooting competition with Hart ended up singing various musical numbers on grassy knolls at the university Hart previously worked at.

Lunch break was commandeered by Temple and Miss Maitland, who insisted I help them transport multiple heavy animal carriers from one end of the ARC to the other. Suspected this may have been cover to interrogate self for some nefarious purpose, except for the part where Temple couldn't keep his eyes off Miss Maitland, who in turn was focused wholly on whatever was in the carriers. Temple either needs a sound kick up the arse to make him make a move, or a good shag to make him see sense. Refrained from mentioning this out loud, which would probably be to detriment of career. 

Afternoon was spent in oversight-type meetings with Lester, Professor Cutter and Major Ryan. All three appear to enjoy conspiring to make self as miserable as possible while on duty, as evidenced by collective reaction to perfectly reasonable request to take over work shift this coming weekend.

Lester: “We don't pay overtime here, Captain.”  
Self: “No, sir.”  
Ryan: “You're not trying to weasel out of anything in the Forces' calendar, are you?”  
Self: “No, sir.”  
Cutter: “Do you not have anything better to do than babysit Lester's mammoth?”  
Self: “No, sir.”

Overtime ultimately approved. Go self. Will have to warn Giles that he will be facing the wrath of the cousins without backup – fitting punishment for the time I mistakenly – and drunkenly – told him I fancied the occasional bloke and he reacted with waggling eyebrows and snide comments about _Brokeback Mountain_ and military and tactical exercises in each ensuing conversation following move to London for current assignment.

On second thought, will not warn Giles of a damn thing.

Meeting was interrupted by Miss Lewis, who declared that Christine Johnson was en route from Whitehall. Cue panic and indoor land speed records from all field team members, all of whom promptly remembered various medical, legal or civic appointments that required them to be anywhere but the ARC within the next sixty seconds. Personally made it as far as the rear exit from the main atrium before Major Ryan ordered me to _“man the hell up, Captain, and get your arse back here!”_

Ended up on civil servant-babysitting duty with Hart, who pouted magnificently as Lester, Major Ryan and the Professor took my escape route with Miss Lewis in hot pursuit. Hate them all with a fiery vengeance, but did not let this show. Was brought up to show appropriate standards in all areas of deportment, decorum and performance and have no intention of letting the side down now.

Hart appears to have no such compunctions but then again Hart is an unrepentant hussy who uses his position as Cutter's only friend to avoid being fired and flirts with anything that moves in apparent effort to discern motive and behaviour. Already know well enough to never ask him about the success record of such behaviour, and refused to be drawn into bet with Hart as to whether Johnson would be reciprocal to his overtures.

Instead of taking offence at self's continued reluctance to be drawn into his madness, Hart instead grinned. “Do you _ever_ show any emotion, soldier boy?”

Wonder if punching him in the face would qualify.

 **8.27pm** Finally got rid of Johnson and current crop of flunkies. Hate all forms of politician with a fiery vengeance.

Given number of times longing looks were directed at self's handgun during impromptu tour and vapid discussion of progression with anomaly research, suspect Hart feels the same way.

 **10.49pm** Two unexpected parcels in my letterbox tonight. Very suspicious, as have not ordered anything online since the Great eBay Binge of three months ago. (Still have thirteen serial crime thrillers in pristine condition on shelf waiting to be read.) Both appear to be correctly named and addressed – will examine them properly in morning once have caught up on sleep.


	3. Wednesday

**Wednesday  
3am** Am tasked with the protection of idiots and imbeciles. Was stuck in a 4x4 on the M1 in middle of night with everyone for hours, no thanks to Cutter's driving and constant roadworks between Junctions 7 and 15.

Refused to be drawn into Hart's suggestion of game of 'Truth Or Dare' – strongly suspect this is the real reason half of the Special Forces assigned to the ARC fear the man more than Lester. Instead everyone else in the car got caught up in Temple's suggestion of 'I'm Thinking Of A Word Beginning With'. As far as can tell it plays like 'I Spy' but with copious amounts of cheating written into the rules. (Refuse to believe that Temple is in fact three years older than self when he continues to act like two year old on permanent sugar high.) Words guessed included: _Palaeolithic_ , aqueduct, voluptuous, antidisestablishmentarianism (Quinn's turn; actually succeeded in shutting up Temple for more than thirty seconds), _Lepidodendrales_ and _temnospondyli_. Hate anything zoology-related with a fiery vengeance. Suspect Miss Lewis may have sympathised with me, but she spent most of the journey snoring into my shoulder.

 **7am** Anomaly had disappeared by the time we reached Lincoln. Instead of hunting dinosaurs or even standing guard over a big sparkly time portal found self commandeered by Temple and Miss Maitland in pursuit of an early-opening bakery for breakfast. Ended up carrying armfuls of pastries, rolls and coffees back to the 4x4 for everyone else.

This is not what the recruiters said would happen when ~~signing self up for~~ conning self into Her Majesty's Armed Forces.

Was pleasantly surprised when Quinn offered to share his bacon roll while the Professor mooned over the view of the cathedral with sleepy Miss Lewis in tow.

Quinn: “You realise we're surrounded by nutters, right?”  
Self: “You're the one who declared his life's ambition was to hunt dinosaurs.”  
Quinn: “Never going to let me live that one down, are you?”  
Self: “Nope. Thanks for the roll.”

Briefly wondered whether Quinn would agree to be plus one for family garden party from hell this weekend before remembering yesterday's sneaky plan to be tragically unavailable for it. Almost a pity – the looks on Cousins Kathy and Reg's faces would be worth having to spend time outside of work with Quinn. Might also be less cringe worthy than the anniversary party that university friend Tally tagged along for, who let Giles get him drunk on Cousin Alvin's stash of malt liquor before gleefully informing the greater extended Becker family that he and self were 'bum-buddies'.

Hate all things family with a fiery vengeance. Note to self: sabotage Giles' next attempt at romantic relationship by any means necessary.

Additional note to self: intimate to Temple before getting back into 4x4 that any further attempts to instigate travel games will result in his swift and premature demise.

 **12.03pm** Mum phoned while stuck in more construction works on motorway. Rang three times before Quinn reached over and grabbed phone, narrowly avoiding groping Miss Lewis on the way.

Quinn: “Captain Becker's phone.”  
Self: _Don't say anything, Mum. For once in your life do-_  
Quinn: “No, I'm afraid he's a little caught up with things at the moment.” Actually had no limbs thanks to being squashed like sardine between Temple and Miss Lewis. “Oh no – I'm his assistant. Can I take a message for the good Captain?”  
Self: _Please, Mum..._  
Quinn: “Oh, _has_ he now...”  
Self: _Shit fuck damn bollocks. Where' s my gun when I need it?_

Quinn put a hand over the speaker part of the phone and grinned obscenely from the front passenger seat. “Mum wants to know who you're bringing to the party on Saturday,” he announced. “And if it's a male 'special friend' that you want to bring, that's all right too, because there's nothing wrong with being -”

Tried to look as menacing as possible while wedged between Miss Lewis and Temple, the former at least trying not to laugh while the latter had blatantly shit-faced grin. “I will tear you limb from limb, Danny Quinn. Give me the phone back.”

“That was an emotion!” Hart chose that very moment to pipe up from the back row. “That was definitely an emotion!” Felt a hand ruffle my hair. “Knew you had it in you, soldier boy!”

Continued glaring at Quinn until he ended the call with Mum, and slipped phone back into the pocket it had come from while everyone else in the car stared at self with growing intensity. Even Cutter took a gawk, the traffic having been at a standstill for at least twenty minutes. Refused to be drawn into silent peer pressure to explain mother's idiosyncrasies and continual inability to leave me alone for any length of time. Am not sodding child any more.

 **4.51pm** Returned signed-out weapons to firearms locker and ignored on-duty officer's look of surprise that full complement of ammunition was included. Have no interest in finding out where apparent reputation for trigger-happy standards came from; likewise am not interested in challenging this assumption.

On way to underground car park and feeling pretty pleased with self for having survived pointless round trip to Lincoln when Major Ryan appeared from out of nowhere.

“I've been hearing some interesting things about you, Captain.”

As genial conversation openers went... this was not one of them.

“Sir?”

“I'm given to understand that you're due to attend a family function on Saturday.” Ryan's expression turned from seemingly-casual to I-will-flay-you-with-a-pocketknife-and-use-your-entrails-for-target-practice-if-you-dare-bullshit-me in less than a second; possibly this is some kind of record. “One of the things you pick up quickly working somewhere like this place is that family's important, more so than you think. Would you agree with that finding, Becker, that family matters?”

Shit. “Of course, sir.”

Ryan grinned. “Then you'll understand why you've been taken off the duty roster for this weekend. If you want to reapply for any overtime after that you know where Lester's office is.”

Bollocks. “Yes, sir.”

“Have a good time at the party this weekend, Becker.” Ryan left before I could formulate a reply that didn't involve copious swearing, violence, rending of garments or even worse – pouting.

 **6.20pm** Parcels still sitting menacingly on coffee table. Too tired to open them tonight. Switched mobile phone off. Too tired to deal with cruel, callous civilians and commanding officers.

Have been betrayed by ex-copper, or possibly anyone else in 4x4 this morning. Hate everyone in the world with a fiery vengeance. Am seriously considering changing name and moving to remote Appalachian village. But only after six to eight hours absolute minimum of uninterrupted sleep.


	4. Thursday

**Thursday  
5.23am** Woken up by glaring sunlight pouring through window. Apparently forgot to close curtains last night. Miss being able to sleep through anything short of an air-strike.

 **5.39am** Am out of tea bags and milk smells funny. World and self appear to have agreement of mutual hate.

 **5.50am** Stopped short of sticking head in fridge in effort to wake self up _sans_ caffeine, but only barely. Parcels still sitting suspiciously on coffee table; might as well find out what's in them.

 **5.54am** When the fuck did I order what look like big knickers?

...Maybe this is all a bad dream and am still in 4x4 on bloody M1.

Just kicked coffee table to be sure. Foot hurts like hell – not dreaming, then. Packaging on knickers makes no sense; claims to be able to reduce cellulite with what looks like half the stock of Holland & Barrett. Do women seriously think wearing knickers with caffeine and vitamins in them helps them look thinner?

More importantly... I don't remember ordering these monstrosities.

 **7am** Made it through early morning traffic to ARC without incident, only to find trails of little ripped-up shreds of paper in underground car park leading to stairwell. Since was not alerted overnight by Major Ryan as to Lester's mental breakdown and consequent paperwork-fuelled rampage across London can only assume something more mundane is at play here.

Priorities, though. First stop – break room and kettle.

 **7.10am** Prevented from inhaling self's much needed fifth food group by scuffling noises from corridor outside. Took mug and favourite Mossberg to investigate, only to find Temple running around like a mad-man. Didn't realise he knew this time of morning existed.

“What are you doing?”

Temple came screeching to halt two doors down. “Um... Becker! This is a surprise! I wasn't expecting to see you here, not for another...” He scrabbled around on his wrists looking for the time; along with his watch, it was not there.

Took healthy swig of tea. “What are you doing?”

Temple's eyes widened. Began mentally preparing list of possible worst case scenarios – most of which have actually happened since self's reassignment to ARC. Dread to think that Temple may have managed to improve on said list.

“Have you seen a _Diictodon_ running around anywhere?” Temple asked, with what can only assume was intended to be a winning smile.

Cocked weapon one-handed while taking another swig of tea. (And Elspeth says men can't multi-task.) “Why would there be a -” Am not even sure what he said. “- creature running around the ARC?”

“Because it got out of its cage?”

Considered this for a second while pointedly ignoring security hazard that is Connor Temple. “Is it dangerous?”

Temple's gaze swung towards Mossberg. “No!” he squeaked. “No – you can't hurt Sid!”

There had to be a logical explanation for this, just not sure I wanted to hear it. Ever. “Sid?”

Bollocks.

Temple began babbling, full on this time. “He's completely harmless, I swear! Can you help me find him? And not tell anyone about this – no one can know I've got them here,” he pleaded.

“Them? In fact, no – on second thought, Temple, I don't want to know.” Temple's face fell. “But I'll help you find it before the Major gets here.” Am quite possibly insane. Literally have no idea why I agreed to Temple's request.

“Thank you!” Temple beamed.

Gulped down rest of tea – had feeling I was going to be needing a lot more than the one mug by the time the morning was out. “Just one thing, Temple. Before you do anything else.”

“Yeah?”

“Put a shirt on.”

“Oh. Okay.”

 **7.45am** Eventually found suspiciously familiar-looking dinosaur munching its way through spare requisition forms in the supply room. Stayed in doorway while Temple attempted to creep up on the little thing, arms outstretched – remarkably it stayed still long enough to be scooped up into Temple's arms, much like a disturbingly oversized rabbit.

“Oh, there you are, Sid. Oh, who's a naughty little boy, scampering off like that, ohh yes you are -”

Left them to it. Hate baby talk with a fiery vengeance, more so when it's directed at things that aren't actually babies. Or used in general. Last time I saw her Elspeth was five months pregnant and adamant in refusal to talk to anyone unless they cooed to her in butchered English first. Dread to think what she'll be like when spawn finally arrives.

Spent rest of morning hoarding the break room's kettle and getting on with disturbingly high pile of paperwork that seemed to have accumulated from nothingness over the last few days. Will never doubt Home Office's ability to generate copious amounts of meaningless forms, statistical analyses and cover sheets again.

Mid-way through summation of requisition form that bore less resemblance to reality than something by Dan Brown, my mobile phone went off. Text, not call.

It was Mum. _Are u still coming this weekend & will u be bringing someone with u? x_

Took a moment to formulate a calm, measured response: _Looks like it, and no._

For an outspoken technophobe, the reply came very quickly: _Kathy says her god-daughter will be there. V nice girl, looking forward to meeting u x_

May have sprained thumbs replying. _Changed my mind. Bringing friend. Will make sure they're housetrained._

Gave into urge to groan loudly and bury head in arms. Now had to find plus one for Cousin Kathy's party. Still have vivid, horrible memories of the last 'introduction' she made. Francesca was lovely – as long as I stood as far away from her as possible. Annoying laugh, over-powering perfume, utterly vapid on all subjects not relating to her job (trainee beautician), violently anti-military. Yes, am petty about certain things. No, don't care.

Rest of afternoon passed without major incident. Minor incidents included the following:  
\- Major Ryan demanding the kettle back after much bellowing through corridors that he was going to find kettle thief and feed them to Lester's mammoth.  
\- Miss Lewis poking her head in and asking for assistance relocating a shipment of Home Office-headed paperwork of ungodly size. Resisted urge to break down in tears, though submitted to requisite heavy lifting.  
\- Temple waylaying self en route to Lester's office and babbling thanks for help with early morning incident – oddly enough, he was wearing different trousers from before. Briefly wondered whether Temple was actually living in ARC before dismissing notion as crazy.

Got home at reasonable hour only to be greeted by monstrous knickers on coffee table. Binned them. Feel have done world a minor service.

 **2.54am** Woken up by mobile phone ringing. Instantly panicked about possible anomaly alert before slow realisation that ring tone was all wrong.

Answered call. “Becker...”

_“Ah luv'oo, Hil'ry. You're the beshhht shishter ah ever'ad....”_

“Fuck off, Giles. I'm trying to sleep.”


	5. Friday

**Friday**  
Drew short straw in locker-room first thing and ended up on sentry duty in main atrium. Judging by Major Ryan's expression this is punishment for hoarding the kettle yesterday. Have no regrets.

Vantage point in atrium provides clear sight lines of Lester's office and ramp leading up to it, main exit to corridors leading to labs, and worktop appropriated by Temple and Dr Page for the artefact. All of this is well and good providing that things actually happen in main atrium. Today did not seem to be one of those days. All was very quiet; even the anomaly detector didn't so much as beep.

Attempted to spend time constructively by mapping out possible security improvements for forthcoming meeting with Major Ryan. Might be possible to improve overall strength of external perimeter patrol by adding -

Just spotted the perfect vantage point for sniping Lester in his office. Will be filing _that_ away for future reference. Though can imagine the meeting with Ryan now:

_Ryan: “And how did the exercise go?”  
Self: “I killed Lester twice in one morning. It was fantastic.”_

On second thoughts, maybe not.

...Where was I?

Laser sight on Lester's forehead – no. Perimeter patrol. Cramp in left foot. Botanist trailing prehistoric soil across main atrium. Ow, still cramped. Bored beyond all possible belief. Hate Major Ryan with a fiery vengeance. Laser sight on Ryan's forehead? Now that has possibilities...

“Captain Becker?”

It was Dr Page, who managed to sneak up on self despite having zero stealth training outside of university libraries (one hopes). Did not let surprise show, but did acknowledge her presence and waited for her to continue.

“I was just wondering... since you're not doing very much here, do you think you could come and give me a hand with Cutter's anomaly prediction model? Just moving some stuff around, that sort of thing.”

When did inter-ARC memo that self was sodding packhorse leak, and who was responsible so I can hunt them down and kill them?

“Of course.” Am nothing if not polite. Radioed one of the corporals patrolling the outer atrium perimeter to take over _“not doing very much”_. Some people have no appreciation for matters of national security.

As it turned out, 'moving some stuff around' was defined by Dr Page as completely rearranging Cutter's laboratory. Not even allowed to radio for back up, and yet can't bring self to hate Dr Page. Possibly this is because she has barely been at ARC for same length of time as self and as such has not yet had chance to be sucked into general insanity masquerading as research facility.

Few minutes into hard labour Dr Page disappeared, only to reappear shortly afterwards with steaming mug and what smelled like custard creams. Woman briefly shot up in self's estimation – right up to the point of idly wondering how she would fare in the company of the greater extended Becker family for an afternoon. All came crashing down when she began sipping tea and wolfing her way through biscuits without offering self so much as a morsel. Tried not to let new found hatred show.

“Did you watch that idiot O'Farrell's documentary on the BBC last night?” Dr Page asked suddenly.

Had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. “No.”

“Eh, it wasn't worth watching – oh, that one goes over there. His core argument just absolutely defied belief, though,” she continued, waving custard cream around like so much torture. “Middle Kingdom pyramids have stood the test of time so much better than that!”

Still had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. Fortunately she didn't seem interested in waiting for answer of any kind. “I mean, how can he honestly believe that the original entrance to Golden Boy Wonder's tomb was through a tomb built fourteen Pharaohs later? It's one thing to theorise that the Valley of the Kings' tombs are all interconnected, but the least he could do was make it chronologically plausible. How could someone get the New Kingdom dynasties so blatantly wrong? The man makes Budge look like a frigging genius...”

Reasonably confident all will to live had now been lost. Finished rearranging the laboratory – even wondered briefly if Cutter had any idea of Dr Page's apparent coup over his work space – then nodded at Dr Page (still decrying the apparent idiocy of more people I hadn't heard of) before leaving.

Static sentry duty looked whole lot more appealing now.

Lunch break finally arrived – but break room was devoid of kettle. Cheerfully informed by passing sergeant that kettle was safely in custody of Major Ryan in his office. Was able to counter this new offensive by having been very prepared this morning, and only regret was that no one was around to see triumphant withdrawal of Thermos from locker.

“All right there, Captain?”

Except for Danny Quinn, maybe.

Barely spared him glance as began pouring out first ration of caffeine.

“Yeah, okay, I probably deserved that. Look,” Quinn said quietly, coming into break room properly and closing door behind him, “about the other day, I'm sorry.”

Turned to face him with best expression of surprise capable of mustering. “The great Danny Quinn apologising for something?”

“Yeah.”

“I'm sure Temple has a camera around here somewhere – do you think we ought to commemorate this auspicious occasion?”

Quinn glared at me. “I'm trying to do something nice here, Becker.”

“Are you now?”

“Yes.” Quinn sighed. “Look, I heard you've basically got no choice but to go to this family thing tomorrow, so... if you want some back up, or something, I'll come with you.”

“I don't need a pity date.” Or date of any kind. Except I did. Visions of Cousin Kathy's god-daughter floated into mind. Hadn't seen her since she was seven years old with thick glasses, greasy pigtails and far too fond of chasing Giles and self around garden with hosepipe. Dreaded to think what that little monster could have matured into in intervening years.

“Who said anything about pity? Or a date?” Quinn shrugged. “I feel bad about that thing with your mum on the phone, and this is me trying to make amends.”

Eyeballed him. Wish I was better at ascertaining motive without need for shots to be fired. Eventually gave in. “Okay. We'll take my car, and you're driving back.”

“Okay.”

“And so help me, if you humiliate me in any way tomorrow they will never find enough of you to make a positive identification.”

Quinn grinned. “Gotcha. Best behaviour it is.” And with that, he left.

Few minutes later mobile phone rang. It was Quinn.

_“Is there a dress code for meeting your family?”_

“Yes. Don't look like a tramp. Any reason you couldn't ask that in person?”

_“It's my day off today. Heading to the pub – see you in the morning, soldier boy.”_

And with that, he hung up, leaving self with only Thermos for company.

Managed to get through rest of day without further homicidal thoughts regarding Lester or Ryan – or anyone else for that matter. The look on Major Ryan's face when sauntered out of atrium after full day as static sentry was worth the loss of feeling in left foot.

As long as I can survive family gathering from hell tomorrow, have feeling this week will turn out okay after all.


	6. Saturday

**Saturday  
4.31am** Woke up. Stared at ceiling. Eventually recognised heavy feeling in stomach as utter dread at prospect of rest of day. Never get this nervous about anything else. Bloody family.

 **5am** Gave up on sleep. Instead settled on sofa with random selection from bookshelf. Placed ARC-issued mobile phone in carefully selected location on coffee table so will be impossible to miss anomaly alert.

 **5.10am** No anomaly alert.

 **5.26am** Still no anomaly alert. 

**5.37am** Where are bloody rips in time and space and _dinosaurs_ when you need them?

 **6am** Checked weather report. Guaranteed sunny weather in Cousin Kathy's area. Even bloody Met Office hates self.

 **6.45am** Still no anomaly alert. Texted Quinn to let him know was on way.

 **7.30am** “What time do you call this? You can go right off some people, you know.”

“Get in the car, Quinn.”

 **11.30am** “Are we there yet?”

“Quinn...”

“You won't let me talk. You won't let me even touch the radio. And I hate the countryside, which is all I've been staring at for the last two hours. How else am I supposed to amuse myself?”

“...Fine. No.”

“No, what?”

“No, we're not there yet.”

“Well, how long 'til we get there?”

“Not long.”

“How long's not long?”

“Ten minutes.”

“Why couldn't you just say that?”

“Quinn...”

“Yeah, got it. I'm the sorry bastard who got you into this in the first place. Shutting up now.”

 **11.45am** “Hilary! Oh sweetheart, you're early!”

“Hello, Mum.” Submitted to bone-crushing hug followed by inhumanly tight grip on shoulders while Mum gave self visual inspection that would put Major Ryan's glares to shame. Finally pulled back and gave Quinn fish-eye.

“You must be Hilary's friend.”

Inwardly cringed at look on Quinn's face. “Yeah...” he began, oddly hesitant, then stuck out a hand for her. “I'm Danny – Danny Quinn. It's lovely to meet you, Mrs Becker.”

“Oh, don't be silly,” Mum laughed. “Call me Gillian.” She quickly shook Quinn's hand then dashed back inside the house. Clearly heard her shriek to all and sundry: _“Hilary's here!”_

Quinn turned to look at me. “Hilary?”

“I know a dozen ways to kill you with that door knocker.”

To surprise, Quinn laughed. “Course you do, soldier boy. And I told you, best behaviour – remember?”

“Yes, you did. We'd better go inside.”

 **12.03pm** First drink of day in hand. Strongly suspect it won't be last. So far only Mum and Dad were here, plus of course Cousins Kathy and Reg, both of whom had shot Quinn dark looks, though both remained outwardly polite and gracious, as befitted Becker family gatherings to which non-related interlopers were invited.

Open door policy at front of house meant that various family members started trickling in; mostly cousins I either barely recognised or had zero interest in talking to. Surreptitiously checked phone in pocket while nodding to Uncle Peter and Auntie Margot as they wandered through living room. Still no anomaly alert.

Was eventually joined by Quinn. “Aren't you going to start introducing me to everyone?”

“No.” Saw no point in beating around bush. “Probably better if you remain a proverbial fly on the wall.”

“Better for who?”

“You'll see.”

Instead of looking put out, Quinn grinned. “So your first name really isn't 'Captain', then?”

Shot him filthiest look self was capable of. “You mention my first name to anyone at work, and -”

“- you'll kill me. Yeah, got it.” Quinn didn't look the least bit intimidated by this. Am possibly losing touch – not good.

Was prevented from verbal reply by sound of front door slamming, followed quickly by another of Mum's trademark squeals. “Giles! Oh, it's so good to see you, sweetheart.”

“Oh God...” Quickly downed rest of drink. 

“What is it?”

Looked miserably at empty glass. “My brother's here.”

Mum came into living room with Giles at other end of death grip. “Giles, this is Hilary's _friend_ , Danny.” Shit. She still hadn't got memo that 'friend' was not euphemism for anything. “Danny, this is Giles, my eldest son.”

“Hey,” Quinn nodded.

“At least he won't be giving birth on the patio!” Uncle Peter called out from other end of the room. Didn't realise he was still that lucid – or had that good hearing.

Giles smirked, then looked Quinn up and down, mental cogs audibly whirring. Groaned quietly and braced self for coming onslaught.

Giles grinned. “Have you considered adoption?”

 **12.30pm** Don't know whether to be impressed with Quinn since arriving or check for evidence of changeling. Man has been paragon of good behaviour – refused alcohol from Mum in lieu of water, and quickly got tongues wagging amongst older cousins that wasn't he such a gentleman letting me drink in the company of my own family like that? Even Cousin Kathy seemed to have succumbed to unexpected charm offensive – actually blushed when Quinn complimented her on the house and garden, which has to be a first.

Am fairly sure this behaviour would be annoying if it meant I had to actually talk to anyone – as have quickly found out, having tall, ginger ex-copper constantly at less than arm's distance means fewer questions directed at self about work or love-life (or distinct lack thereof) and much more attention focused on said ex-copper, who has surprising number of anecdotes about life in Met on hand designed to make people laugh.

Eventually, as it usually did, conversation turned to sister Elspeth and her impending spawn.

“It's due in eight days – that's why she didn't come today.”

“I thought she didn't come today because she's finally mastered the art of nought to psycho in a split second and her husband's a broken man who'll probably go into full meltdown if he lays eyes on another Becker,” Giles muttered into my ear.

It was funny because it was probably true.

“She's doing so well, though,” one of the cousins gushed. “I bet you can't wait to be a grandmother, Gillian.”

Mum beamed.

“And how's Giles doing these days?” the same cousin asked, swivelling around to face us.

Giles ducked his head in attempt at false modesty. “Well, I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you – oh wait,” he said, “that's Hilary's line.” 

Everyone roared – and even Quinn (traitor) grinned – before Mum piped up. “Giles is in line for another promotion,” she announced with enough pride it could have been her job she was talking about.

“And Hilary?” Auntie Margot asked.

“Still on a security assignment in London,” I replied.

Instantly everyone started murmuring about what a shame it was that self was only on security detail still, and wasn't it such a shame that self was doing so poorly compared to about-to-provide-first-grandchild Elspeth and high flyer Giles.

Will not give into urge to stamp feet and cry loudly: “Not only have I survived a tour of duty in Afghanistan but I now hunt _dinosaurs_ for a living. I'M SPECIAL TOO!”

Felt hand on arm, which turned out to be Quinn. “S'all right, soldier boy,” he muttered, slight grin on his face. “I know you're a hero, really.”

Hate family gatherings with a fiery vengeance. Checked phone again. Still no anomaly alert.

 **2.30pm** Had made strategic retreat to mercifully empty dining room when Quinn appeared with two glasses in hand – he handed me the one clearly full of alcohol and sat down next to me. 

“Kathy said to tell you her god-daughter couldn't make it today. Something about an emergency appointment at the vet.”

“Thank God for small mercies.”

"Don't know what you were so worried about." Quinn looked disturbingly calm - even happy - for an outsider at a Becker gathering. "Your family's pretty normal."

Didn't believe it for a second. Let this show.

He laughed. "Disgustingly normal, actually. Well, except for your brother."

"Giles can be a bit of a tosser. It's his way of breaking you in." Considered Giles' track record for a moment, then added: "And keeping you broken."

Quinn laughed and downed the rest of his glass. "Sounds about right. Well, I'm going to go kick the tosser's arse at swing ball. You going to be all right without back up for a bit?"

"I think I'll manage."

"Holler if you can't." And with that, he was gone, presumably out and around to the back garden.

 **2.37pm** Mobile phone buzzed. Anomaly alert. Have never been so happy at potential dinosaur rampage in life. Ran through house, grabbed Quinn by collar and ran for the car.

 **10pm** Got home, having been witness to would-be stampede in Tunbridge Wells town centre by velociraptors. Managed to shoot three of them with tranq gun before Hart had even managed to load his rifle properly.

Go self.


End file.
